Paris, August 1799 - Joséphine

----------------------- outside Paris, Malmaison, August 1799 -------

Adeláire sat alone in the carriage that the Marquis had lent her for her journey to Joséphine’s country estate, and already she was very uncomfortable. As usual, when she became nervous, she wrapped her arms around her upper body and tried to breathe with closed eyes. This, however, meant that the night before danced with vivid images before her eyes. Pictures of a togetherness almost filled with greedy despair. As if it could be the last time she would share that with Arno, to explore each other.

She could feel her breathing shaking her lungs as her body recalled the delicate touches. Pictures passed her inner eye, in which she relentlessly pushed him back into the pillows and raised self-indulgently above him. Almost her skin was once again burning, and she had to exert all her willpower to get rid of these memories. The fact that she knew Dorian followed behind the carriage on horseback did not make things any better. Too close and yet far too distant he was to her at that moment.

Gently like a feather her fingertips touched again the envelope lying on the seat next to her, which contained the letter of recommendation of the Marquis. He had made no demands for the moment. But everyone involved knew that they would follow. He had sent a letter to Joséphine beforehand, which then signaled her consent to an acquaintance. Amazingly, all this had not taken much more than a week of time. There was hardly any opportunity to whip her wardrobe into shape and inform the council about all the new, if not really persuasive, details.

After some planning, they agreed that Francesco and LaHache should form the outward contact. They rode behind them with half day delay, deliberately choosing absent ways. Next to Arno, Verne accompanied her carriage. They hoped that Joséphine would accept the request of the personal guards and incorporate the two Assassins into the processes of the household. If not…

Adeláire shook her head energetically and straightened her shoulders. She did not want to think about that. Do not think about it, do not provoke it, it would not happen. She sighed softly. She wondered if constantly reminding herself to not think about it would keep her nerves at bay.

She would have gladly liked to exchange a look with Arno, and yes, with Verne as well, at the moment. Simply to pick up a little more security. But the Marquis's carriage did not have a window in the rear. So only she remained to calm herself.

A familiar tingling sensation in her neck made her smile softly, and tempt her to spread out her own senses. She could only guess the sketches of horses and men behind the carriage. Her sense was not strong enough to penetrate walls or objects. But she was able to make out how one of the two gave his horse spurs and steered beside the carriage. She slid on her seat toward the window and pushed the curtain aside. Dorian restrained his horse and she met his examining eyes.

"Is everything all right with you in there?" 

She smiled gently.  "Yeah, everything all right." She thought for a moment. "A little nervous. But apart from that everything’s just fine.”

He frowned briefly, which turned over to a smile. He leaned sideways over the neck of his horse and gently pressed her hand, which was resting on the window frame. The movement rhythm of horse and carriage did not really match each other, so that the soothing pressure of his hand was much too short.  “You can do it. We… can do it…”

Adeláire was perhaps glad for the first time in her life that someone was there to protect her. None of them knew exactly why they felt all this supposed danger in their necks. Was it merely because of the fact that >Lady Eve< had succeeded in exposing them? Or was there even more behind it? It certainly caused all five Assassins to be on their guard and get ready for everything.

While Arno fell back again, Adeláire gathered herself again and went through her own thoughts. She called herself Mademoiselle Adeláire Constanze de Poirót, daughter of an impoverished French Nobleman who had sought refuge during the Revolution with the Italian family of his deceased wife. Terminally ill, and dying, he left the wish that his daughter might be sent back to France to find a better place in life.

Francesco had insisted that they would elaborate the story further, in case anyone asked questions. Adeláire and Verne, however, were sure that her improvisational talents would help her at such moments. Though, now in this carriage, Adeláire was no longer so sure. Again she took a deep breath and tried to calm herself. How LaHache had so beautifully tinted in the breast of conviction "It will work out". May higher powers give his words truth.

The wheels of the carriage crunched on the kilometer-long driveway of the country castle. Adeláire was careful to not look too provincial and to just stare in wonder out of one of the windows. Attempting to appear ladylike, she lifted one of the curtains just so, hoping to display reasonably majestic facial expressions.

Malmaison could well be described as a typical French country castle. Clear in the floor plan and yet playfully pompous with tower, oriels, and pennants. The large driveway ended in a rondel decorated with a flowery arrangement in the middle including fountains. The happy splatter seemed almost cheerful.

Adeláire waited for the carriage door to open and then seized the offered hand. She felt Dorian's encouraging pressure and gratefully returned it, albeit as brief as her eye contact. Now was not to time to fall out of the role. And in her role Dorian was simply nothing more than an employee of her deceased father. A former soldier, turned off to serve her as a bodyguard. So she nodded majestically and went up the few steps to the waiting servant.

Just that servant bowed visibly too concise and not in the least with a reverential charisma. Apparently he was familiar with the guest's background and seemed to have formed his own, arrogant opinion. Adeláire decided not to react thereon.

"Bienvenue Mademoiselle Poirót. Madame Bonaparte awaits the young lady in the garden. I ask to follow me."  The servant, evidently the butler or caretaker, bowed again in his too concise manner, and snapped two boys to take care of carriage and horses. Arno and Verne set on to follow Adeláire, unsolicitedly, which earned them a silently raised eyebrow from the arrogant servant.

"This Monsieur, are the delegated bodyguards upon which my father and the Marquis have insisted. I hope their presence does not cause any unpleasant circumstances." Adeláire tried to give her voice a snooty nasal tone, unsure if she was doing so well. But obviously it was enough that the servant looked at the aforementioned just as cocky from top to bottom and back, then finally nodded silently: "One will find and prepare quarters for the gentlemen. Until then they may follow us."

"Merci, Monsieur,” Adeláire felt herself exhale with relief. A first hurdle overcome. The question remained whether Joséphine would insist that she was safe here and that her bodyguards could be canceled. These considerations did not in the least relax the knot in Adeláire's stomach. How gladly she would now enjoy the strong, safe and leading arm of Dorian.

Quickly they crossed the premises of the ground floor, admiring the attractive view of graceful, beautiful marble columns, tapestries and exquisite furniture. Joséphine had taste, it had to be left to her without envy. And this taste was reflected not only in the interiors, but also in the beautifully landscaped garden. Already now everything was green and blooming in intoxicating colors. Here, much time had already been invested before the move to realize this beautiful flower sea.

Completely ladylike, Adeláire put up her lace umbrella to protect herself from the sun, which shone from a cloudless sky. She could already feel the sweat running down her spine and causing the corset beneath her dress to be uncomfortably laced. She hated clothes fervently.

With a soft sigh, she followed the servant to a pavilion in which ladies, colorful as birds and flowers, had already gathered. In the midst of them was Joséphine, whose bell-like laugh pearled over the splashing fountain.

Joséphine could not really be described as extraordinary beauty. Her face was a little too chubby, her nose a bit too pointed, her mouth a little too small, her eyebrows too straight for eyes that looked too dark. Her usual brown hair was twirled into artful, small curls and loosely put into a fashionable hairstyle in a new way. She had already picked up on the prevailing fashion trend and exchanged corset and hoop skirt for a soft-flowing mousseline dress with a high waist.

Longingly Adeláire felt a soft sigh in her, linked to the hope that she herself would soon be allowed to get rid of corset and hoopskirt as well. She hoped to be able to conceal this in a reasonable curtsey, followed by a gentle smile and an open look in the direction of Joséphine.

"Mademoiselle Adeláire Constanze de Poirót, announced guest of the Marquis de Sade”, the servant diligently introduced her.

The comment almost wrested a frown from Adeláire. Joséphine returned the smile that had been brought to her with a look on her face that reminded of a lurking viper. Something glinted in the dark eyes and the sweetness around the corners of her mouth felt a touch too poisonous. Something crept up Adeláire's spine, which she did not know how to interpret. Perhaps they had done well to exercise caution?

The vague idea dispersed like clouds in the blazing sunshine as Joséphine finally rose from her place with a beaming smile and outstretched arms, heading for Adeláire.

"My dear, you must be the friend of our eccentric Marquis, whom he announced in the letter. Welcome to Malmaison!"  Joséphine accompanied her words with the usual French kisses on her cheeks, though without touching Adeláire's skin. But close enough to be wrapped in a flowery perfume. The shiver in the spine disappeared a touch. Just enough to keep a smile and reciprocate the gesture made towards her.

"I am really happy to be here, Madame Bonaparte. Also in the name of my beloved, deceased father, who..." A pointing finger wrenched in front of her nose interrupted Adeláires' speech.

"Nana my dear, don’t you dare to address me now all the time with ‘Madame Bonaparte’. It makes me feel like I am one hundred years old." Again, the dreadful smile. "’Joséphine’ is quite enough."

Adelaire, with sheer volition, forced the lump down her throat and nodded again.  "Très bien, Madame... ehm... Joséphine..."

"And who are the two dashing gentlemen who follow you like two menacing shadows, my dear?" Adeláire followed Joséphine's aspirations and turned to Arno and Verne. She observed how the woman, usually on Napoleon’s side, circled the two "dashing gentlemen" and scrutinized them in an unabashed and profuse way. She admired silently how much the two assassins were in control of themselves, and not even a low-pitched muscle betrayed their state of mind. Adeláire dared only briefly to catch Arno's gaze before concentrating on Joséphine again. Had she seen something like a silent warning flashing in his dark eyes?

"My deceased father and the Marquis insisted on bodyguards, which explains the presence of these two gentlemen. I am well aware that further hospitality and accommodation of two more souls would be a great favor on your part, but may not contradict my father's wish."

Uncertain, Adeláire paused in her speech when Joséphine came to stand next to Arno and gently leaned against him. Playing fingertips wandered up his arm, to the uniform ornaments on his chest, and stubbed his chin for a moment before the teasing vanished. Adeláire saw and felt Joséphine's gaze fixate and pierce her. Only with absolute willpower did she manage to keep facial expressions and gestures vacantly. She did not dare to cross her eyes with Dorian’s this time. But she could recognize that his played relaxed attitude dissolved and became cramped, even without standing next to him.

"Handsome men you can never have enough rally around. It would be a shame to send these two home." Again this smile, which made Adeláire shudder.  "Gaston, please find suitable accommodations for the gentlemen and let the Curator decide whether we can integrate them into the household for the time Mademoiselle Poirót spends with us. Two souls more for patrols could prove useful."

The snobbish servant named "Gaston" bowed, this time rather respectfully, nodding to Arno and Verne to follow him and turning on his heel. Both Assassins glanced at Adeláire before turning away and following the servant. The shiver along her spine intensified as the feeling of being alone drifted unbidden. And did not disappear when Joséphine hooked her up with a smile that was warm this time, and was striving towards the garden.

"So my dear, then tell me. How was it in Italy? And have you had the opportunity to overcome the tragic death of your beloved father?"

Adeláire gained some confidence when she was able to regale Joséphine of Italy. She reveled in her own, quite real, childhood memories. Her very own associated heartbreak seemed to contribute to the truthfulness. The melancholy of remembering her childhood seemed to correspond well with the fictitious story of the dead father.

Joséphine was silent during the tales and stroked at the arm of her guest into the back of the Garden. Amazed, Adeláire finally realized that they were alone. Neither servants nor court ladies, let alone guards had followed them. Again, this uneasy feeling crept up her spine and the words of her stories died away.

Before the silence between them became unpleasant, Joséphine released her arm and approached the parapet of one of the many fountains in the garden. Silently she studied the water surface.  "Mademoiselle Poirót, what do you think about this whole revolutionary history?"

Adeláire blinked in confusion for a moment, glad that Joséphine was just turning her back on her. Hastily she wondered what to say to that question while a back part of her brain was wondering why Bonaparte's wife asked her such questions. Thoughtfully, the assassin shifted her weight and sought a reasonably comfortable stance in the delicate slippers that the Parisian fashionista had touted at her.

"I admit,” Adeláire began, “I've never thought much about the pros and cons. All I know is that Paris felt like a powder keg. Back then, a few years ago, when it all started. Which was probably why my father wanted to leave town and country." A glance at Joséphine revealed a brief, silent nod. The attitude of the other, however, did not change in the least.

"I think the changes brought about by the revolution were urgently needed. Otherwise it could never have come this far. Although nobody expected the time of terror. And I think it is now slowly moving in lanes that could do France good." She was silent. So slowly Adeláire got a hunch why Joséphine had asked exactly this question. She carefully considered her next words before choosing them. Her attitude froze like that of a statue.

"If, and this is associated with a great 'if', the right souls get into the right positions of power and take a leadership that is in the spirit of all and a... republic..." Joséphine lifted her chin and finally turned her gaze on her guest after one or two more breaths. Arrogance and pride resonated in the expression of the dark eyes, “Adeláire. Smarter than it might seem at first sight." A chill silence returned before a slight smile made the sun return.  

"You are a smart girl… Adeláire. Smarter than it might seem at first glance." A frosty silence returned before a slight smile made the sun come back.  "I will not ask you any more political questions today. But be aware that politics plays a big role in this house. If you want to learn, then watch, be silent, and listen. If not, well, then I will only teach you courtly manners and release you into the arms of one of the next best gentlemen."

Joséphine's eyes burned dark as she took two steps toward the Assassin, who instantly and painfully missed her Hidden Blade.

"But if you are as wise as I think you are, then you will not be content with such a fate. You will strive for more than just being a skirt in a household. I'm not talking about feminism in the style of a Théroigne de Méricourt." Did the pause for effect have a deeper meaning in the speech of her counterpart, or did Adeláire just imagine so? The mysterious smile that played around Joséphine's mouth remained undecipherable until it dissolved and the warmth flowed back.

"But enough of that for today. You had a long, far way out here and you should first rest and freshen up. Tonight I will give a little soiree, where you will meet some interesting gentlemen." Joséphine took two steps back from her and examined Adeláire's dress. "But not in this ancient monstrosity. Genévieve should pick something out of her wardrobe. We're in the country, but that does not stop us from being à la hauteur de la mode."

The end of the speech led to Joséphine again linking her arm with Adeláire’s and went back to the house. In the meantime, she was babbling about the renovation of the Garden and the Estate, almost in a social way, while Adeláire could not shake the surreal feeling of danger.

The house, the girls, the people in it, everything felt somehow surreal. Especially when Adeláire found herself in a jumble of fabric in her room, broken up by the happy chatter of three girls from Joséphine's entourage. Among them was the named Genévieve, who put back blonde tresses in her headdress while holding one dress after the other in front of Adeláire: "This gold tone would perfectly highlight the green of your eyes. But it does not bring out that wonderful brown-red gold of your hair at all. What do you girls think? Something delicate mint green and the delicate, filigree gold belt? That should certainly charm the men tonight at the soiree, right?"

Adeláire felt helpless, overwhelmed and out of place. Therefore, she remained silent about all this and allowed per se to be plucked, to remove clothes, to put on clothes, to say yes or to discard. She felt like a big dress-up doll with which the girls had more than just their fun. She was only too glad that none of her Assassinbrothers could enjoy this sight.

"Genévieve, we have to get ready. The bell has already hit the seventh hour. The guests are probably already arriving and we should keep them company,” one of the other girls informed.

Adeláire breathed in furtively. This could only mean that this whole circus soon came to an end.

"You are right, Constanze. And I think we were quite successful in our mission to present a lady at the state-of-the-art." Genévieve smiled openly and warmly at Adeláire. "You will absolutely charm the gentlemen, my love." Whereupon Adeláire blinked in confusion as Genévieve snuggled a seductive kiss to her lips. She froze in surprise as her counterpart, instead of loosening and backing away, snuggled even closer and a playful tongue seemed to challenge her.

"Genévieve, stop that. There is really no time for that!"

Adeláire thanked all the gods, and especially Constanze, for interrupting this intrusive tenderness. Hastily she turned away from Genevieve, whose smug smile on the corners of her mouth turned into a broad grin. The Assassin felt her well-known blush crawl up the nape of her neck, concentrating instead on putting on the long gloves.

Her eyes grazed her travel chest, from which all belongings had been distributed in the room. Once again she was glad that Francesco had realized the idea with the double bottom. Her blade was safe, as were the utensils they had decided to use during their stay. After all, they had to somehow exchange information with each other and with Francesco and LaHache.

With resolutely straightened shoulders, she turned her back on the chaos in her room and headed for the lower level with the girls. Arrived at the last landing of the large flight of stairs, her small group was already expected by Joséphine. The strong, dark green of her dress complemented and even corresponded with the color of Adeláires dress. An amused smile slid across the corner of Bonaparte's wife as her gaze scrutiny swept up and down Adeláire. She tugged gently on one of the sleeves and nodded approvingly, “Better, much better.”

Another smiling look didn’t appeal to Adeláire, and instead allowed her gaze to wander down the stairs towards two pairs of eyes, one dark, the other gray. Adeláire followed this gaze and it flashed her torridly as she met a glance Dorian's, which she had never seen on him before. He and Verne were clad in uniforms of the house guard and evidently delegated to surveying the hall. She could almost physically feel Arno regaining control, stiffening his stance, and forcing himself to smooth his features. The burning in her chest stayed persistent.

"Well, seems someone is already an expert in stealing hearts." Joséphine's amused tone stabbed like a blade into sore flesh, so much so that Adeláire cleared her throat, embarrassed, and finally broke eye contact with Dorian.

"Well, it’s probably nothing more than a peasant boy’s crush. The journey was long and I was the only woman. So…" 

There it was again, that viper-like smile.  "Now, now… do not fan the flames, Adeláire. You are a beautiful young woman in a very pretty dress that flatters you in a really outstanding way. His reaction only shows me that my girls did everything right and that tonight you will turn many heads. We decide everything else when the time is right."

Once again Joséphine took her arm and led her down the stairs. Adeláire’s eyes moved back and forth between Verne and Arno. The former only briefly pulled a corner of his mouth into a hint of a smile, the gray of his eyes shimmering warm. The latter sought to maintain his uninvolved facial expressions, which caused embarrassing redness in Adeláire. Just before her and Joséphine's way broke in front of the two men, a dark gaze hit a green one and left a woman breathless blazing in a fraction of a second. As short as the contact lasted, so intensely did she pursue the emotion. They both could only hope that the other girls hadn’t paid too much attention to the exchange. The soft laugh in her back, however, immediately nullified Adeláire's hopes. At last she understood the usefulness of a fan.

The Soirée was already in motion and greeted her hostess with muted applause. Joséphine did not even bother to let Adeláire go and wandered with her at her arm, nodding graciously to the guests, across the room. She only stopped her journey by a man who looked more like a cleric than a socially interested Galan.

"Emmanuel, how nice that you came. I hope the trip out here was not too exhausting?"  Joséphine gave the clerical-looking gentleman a gracious hand for a kiss, fanning coquettishly herself air with her fan. The gesture of "Emmanuel" was also rather wooden. Nevertheless, Joséphine ignored this circumstance with nonchalant elegance.

"Well, the journey back from Berlin to Paris was a lot more arduous." 

Joséphine merely smiled gracefully and turned to Adeláire.  "My dear, may I introduce Emmanuel Joseph Sieyès, current Director of the Republic of France, and hopefully a good friend of the Bonaparte family.”

Adeláire had to stop herself from drawing sharply air into her lungs. Since she had used ways and means to fathom the plans of this man and now he was presented to her as on a silver platter. Even if she believed in coincidences, it would be difficult for anyone to call this one. She pulled herself together, reached her hand to Sieyès for a kiss and gently bent in response to his wooden gallant gesture.

"My dear Emmanuel, this is Mademoiselle Adeláire Constanze de Poirót, currently my ward and a good friend of our ever-popular and quirky Marquis de Sade."

"Did I hear my name ringing with the bell-like voice of our hostess?"

Adeláire immediately recognized that well-known horror running down her spine as the honey-oily voice nestled in her ear. Only reluctantly she handed her hand to the Marquis, whom he ignored and breathed kisses on her cheeks in the French manner. He certainly did not guard the distance Joséphine had kept. His smug smile and wink raised helpless rage in the Assassin. Oh yes, she knew very well that he was taking advantage of this and that he enjoyed it, knowing that she could not resist him. She tried to console herself with the thought that this might be enough for him as a "payment" for his favor.

"Donatien, how nice that you did it. That makes the arrival of our dear guest much more pleasant for you, doesn’t it my love? "

Adeláire could sense her smile was cramped. Nevertheless, she left her hand in those of the Marquis, who enjoyed the circumstances more than just a bit. She decided to keep quiet. She could not really guarantee that an answer would not reveal more poison than she could have explained.

"Your dear guest is certainly quite exhausted from the long journey and completely overwhelmed by all the new impressions,” the Marquis mused, “Surely you have hardly given her time to breathe, my dear Madame Bonaparte, non?" 

Joséphine playfully punished the Marquis’ statement by indignantly, albeit lightly, hitting him in the chest with her fan.  "Of course we have. Even if the time was pretty tight to bring her up to date. But at least Emmanuel thinks our appearance is pleasing to the eye, isn’t it, my dear?"

Adeláire registered the twinkling in the eyes of the Marquis. He knew exactly which company they were in and also remembered the visit of the Assassin in his Mansion. He and she exchanged glances, intense, sustained, while Joséphine continued the conversation with Emmanuel.

"My dear Sieyès, what about the progress of the restructuring in the Directorate? Are the plans going as desired?"

Adeláire's eyes twitched between the Marquis and Sieyès. Did de Sade really dare to ask such a risky question? And did he really expect an honest answer to this rash attack? Out of the corner of her eye, the assassin noted how quiet Joséphine had become and how her scrutinizing gaze brushed against an embarrassingly harrumphing Sieyès.

"Well, my dear Marquis de Sade, I do not know exactly what plans you are referring to. But right now everything is developing in a very pleasant direction. And if the support is on the way, as planned, then it will probably soon come to an even more positive turn."

As scarce as his words were chosen, they carried so much content. Adeláire caught herself holding her breath for a second and then had let to flow him again controlled. The brief exchange of views and the silent nod by Joséphine had not escaped her. Nor the Marquis. The latter bowed tight but elegant and smiled his smug smile.

"It may be granted to you and us then that everything may proceed in the successful sense." Again a smug smile before the Marquis bowed again, this time in front of all present. "But then Ladies, Monsieur Sieyès, please excuse me. The buffet and the excellent wine now definitely need my attention."

"That's an excellent idea, dear Marquis. Adeláire, don’t you want to accompany him", Joséphine picked up the statement, dismissing the Assassin's arm. The latter merely nodded silently, bent in front of Sieyés and allowed the Marquis to take over her arm from Joséphine, as it were.

"We have to send this information to the council", she hissed in her companion’s ear during the pursuit to the buffet. He nodded graciously to those present.

"Which information? What did we learn that you did not already know?”” came back quietly from him.

"He plans something. And he plans it with Joséphine. The council must know that and be on guard." A smiling look met her before the Marquis let his gaze wander again.

"Again the question, what's new about what it would be worth risking the current mission, for which so many have brought so many victims. And will bring..." 

This destroyed her hope like a snowstorm, that he would be content with her being at his mercy in return.  "Do not ask me why, call it female intuition, but Joséphine is dangerous. And thus also Bonaparte. Everything here is related in some way. And every little piece of information can better prepare the council for eventualities." 

His hand patted hers on his arm.  "You really put tremendous trust in your remaining Council." He stopped at the buffet and pretended to think about what he wanted to be presented. Again Adeláire felt this helpless rage. Her eyes slid back to Joséphine and Sieyès, who seemed engrossed in conversation. She would have loved to use her senses to catch something. But the voices around her were too intense.

"It is and will remain the Council of...", as a precaution she bit back the rest, she replied silently and still helplessly the piercing look of the Marquis.

"There are two men and one woman who are unaware of all this and who are to decide from afar what your society wants to do. I consider this an exceedingly dubious honor to put these three people above everything else and, in anticipatory duty of guilt, to send every single piece of information along regardless of any losses. Finally, set up your own clever brain. For my sake, even the one of your bedfellow. But take an example from him and act, react here on-site. Decide what to do and act accordingly. To take responsibility means to grow up."

She felt her eyes burning and stubbornly holding his. Only when the mocking smile drove the seriousness out of his face did she turn away from him and stride through the Soiree to the exit. She did not even register the glances of her Assassinbrothers, who followed her worriedly, out into the garden. Adeláire had the feeling of bursting and the urgent need for fresh air.

Her steps stopped at one of the wells, but her anger did it not stop. If that had been the case, it might have kept her from kicking against the stone edge, and only afterwards to be reminded that she was by no means wearing her boots, but merely courtly shoes. With a more than un-ladylike, filthy curse, she sank down onto the balustrade, took off her shoe, and massaged her toes.

"If you keep this up, you will not be able to dance today."

The whisper from the dark shadows was just loud enough that it could reach her ears. Her "assassin gene" jumped in, making sure she did not reveal his position, but pretended that this voice from the dark didn’t exist at all.

"Who says that I want to dance at all?" came out surlier than she actually intended.  Her comment was only met with deep silence, which elicited a soft sigh from her.

"Did you see who the guest is,” she responded, turning to the fountain's water to camouflage her lip movements in the shadows. Fingertips stroked the surface of the water.

"Sieyès? Yes I have. And he is not the only one, politically highly active guest tonight. Joséphine seems to want to push her husband's ambitious plans forward in his absence." Another silence out of the shadows. "All the more important that you are in there... and not... out here..."

Adeláire felt redness rise her neck again. This happened far too often today. And yet she could not help giving Arno's reprimand credence. She sighed softly before she rose and shook out her wet hands. She put the coolness in the back of her neck for a moment and breathed in due to the relief.

"By the way, you look absolutely stunning tonight ..."

The blush that hit her cheeks within a fraction of a second she strangely enjoyed, and it conjured a soft smile around the corner of her mouth. Sometimes one would not think she was endowed with the deadly skills of an Assassin. Especially not when the words of a man made her blush like that. Still she dared not let her eyes scour the shadows. For one thing, she knew that Arno was masterful in using just those for himself. For another, no one could guess which eyes might be on her.

"I can do it... somehow..."

The shadows owed her an answer. But she seemed to feel the comforting feeling of an encouraging, warm smile on her. Her shoulders and stature were streamlined and ready as she turned back to the mansion, heading back into the hustle and bustle of the society.

Arriving in just that bustle again, Adeláire strove for the spot in the room where she had last met with Sieyés. He was still in conversation with Joséphine. And someone new had joined the group.

"Adeláire, there you are again. Welcome my brother-in-law, Lucien Bonaparte, President of the Council of the 500. Lucien, this is our dear guest from Italy, Mademoiselle Adeláire Constanze de Poirót. "

Adeláire creased slightly in front of the young man named Lucien Bonaparte. The resemblance to his brother was undeniable. He even wore hair and beard in the same style.

"Essere noi benvenuto Signorina", Lucien said in the cleanest Italian. Adeláire was careful not to glance sideways at Joséphine and to see her assumption to be examined confirmed.

“Grazie per questa calorosa accoglienza. E'un piacere straordinario per conoscere me.”

“Il piacere è tutto mio Signorina.” 

With a grinning smile and holding her gaze, he initiated a decent hand kiss. If he suspected a fake game on her part, Adeláire could only hope that she had been able to dissuade him for the time being off her track. Fully ladylike, she unfolded her fan and enjoyed the soft breeze he caused.

"Don’t you think Italian sounds just as elegant in the ear as French?" Joséphine's voice sounded as if she wanted to recapture the attention.

"Unfortunately, I was not able to follow the content of the exchange, but I admit that it sounded pleasant in any case." Sieyés sipped his wine. Adeláire could not see beyond the facade of this man. His facial expressions could not be interpreted and it was not clear whether he was bored to death or just waiting for an opportunity to go into detail with Joséphine. 

Her reflections were interrupted again by Joséphine.  "Lucien my dear, how about, would you invite our dear guest to dance? I think the other gentlemen don’t really dare."

The smile and the pattern with which she was considered by Lucien did not appeal to Adeláire in the least. Nevertheless, she made a good face for the bad game, grabbed the offered arm and let herself be escorted to the dance floor. Not without her gaze gliding over the attendees. Arno was right: except for Sieyés, and now Lucien, she recognized other members of the council of the 500. Similarly, as in the town hall, this Soiree seemed to contain a deeper background, as seen at first glance. It strangely gave her a sense of security as her scrutinizing gaze met a familiar, dark pair of eyes. Unobtrusively, she gave him a smile and disguised it, as one addressed to Lucien, who just bowed in courtly dance manner before her.

"Am I sorting your accent right into the Veneto, Mademoiselle?" His tone was light, chatty. Adeláire did not trust that for a second.

"Almost, Valle d'Aosta." Adeláire gave him a catlike smile as they began to turn in the dance.

"The accent you seem to hear comes probably from my bilingual upbringing. After all, one could almost think that the borders between Italy and France are more or less fluid in our valley." Lucien’s smile was soft and cold, but so was equally Adeláire’s. "Which is by no means the case."

Lucien followed the round dance of the music and their paths parted briefly, before the tact brought them together again. Something lurking had entered his features. He still sought to camouflage this with a smile, more or less successfully.  "May I infer from these words that it is probably rather a coincidence that you have just strived for a place in the household with my sister-in-law and my brother?" 

Adeláire felt a shiver race down her spine and she silently thanked the dance that was driving them apart again. But it did not change the uncomfortable feeling as she returned to Lucien's arm.

"Or are all ladies from Vallée d'Aoste as politically interested as you?" Lucien stopped the dance by holding her wrist tightly and pulling her close to him. She could smell his scented water and something sparkling edged into the dark gaze. Adeláire deliberately faded the perception of the room, but could clearly feel the familiar tingling sensation on her neck when Dorian's gift caught her.

"You ask really bizarre questions, Monsieur Bonaparte. Even more, where I just arrived today and do not even really know where my journey should bring me. Such attention honors me, but may well be too much of an honor for a simple girl who is merely looking for a new place in this world. My father passed away recently and his last wishes put my well-being in the hands of the Marquis de Sade. I guess the household decision was an agreement between him and my father. Perhaps it would be more promising to ask the Marquis about the exact circumstances."

As boyish and dandy-like Lucien might seem, his grip on her wrist was unyielding and steel-hard. His gaze punctured the soft features of lying. And Adeláire could see that he was not buying her words. Nevertheless, he dismissed her from her compulsion and gallantly gave her an arm again.

"You must be hungry, Mademoiselle. We should find out what the buffet has to offer us." With which he led her unasked and insignificant in just that direction and left her there with a curt bow.

Frowning, Adeláire's eyes followed Lucien, who headed for Joséphine and Sieyés. A quick exchange and all three seemed to agree to retire. Cursing softly, Adeláire turned off the plate that had been handed to her and started to follow the three of them.

Adeláire had to resist a loud curse as she ran straight into Genevieve's arms:  "Have you been left all alone, my love? Well, that's not possible – not when you are still completely new, helpless and clumsy here among us." 

Adeláire threw a critical sideways glance at the blonde, who took her arm in the almost familiar manner. But her open, bright smile did not tell if she meant her words genuine or demeaning.

Adeláire let it go and scanned with her eyes those present until she found the seeking dark pair of eyes. She pointed briefly by turning the line of sight into the direction, in which Joséphine had disappeared with the two gentlemen. Returning to Dorian, neither of them dared to put down a larger sign of understanding. The Assassin could only hope that her Brothers probed the room as attentively, now she had more or less succeeded.

Adeláire's gaze briefly touched Genévieve and something like icy panic flashed through her as she felt a similar, viper-like smile on her as before only on Joséphine. Slowly she felt the sensation of a rope, which was already beginning to tighten around her throat. What the hell did they just get involved in? Cold sweat made her shiver for a moment, before the uneasy feeling was stifled by a chattering swarm of girls, who included the two new arrivals in their rounds. For the rest of the evening Adeláire sought to avoid any further striking collision with those present. If this all already clenched in the first day of her arrival, how would the remaining stay go?

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